I wandered into Rhys’s kitchen. The smell of meatloaf and baked potatoes filled the air. My stomach was growling. I wasn’t cooking a lot at the cabin. I’d been going to Mama’s for home-cooked meals, but I made sure I didn’t do that every night, or she’d worry I wasn’t interested in taking care of myself.
I was used to eating on the run, being served lighter food that wouldn’t bog me down on tour or make me sleepy, and even trying new places that had the words “fine dining” or “gourmet” in their descriptions. But I missed the food I was raised on. Mostly, I missed sitting at a table surrounded by loved ones.
Tonight, I’d get the experience without worrying Mama. Bethany and Hannah had convinced Rhys to ask me to stay for dinner after lessons because his meatloaf was the best ever.
Rhys’s back was to me as he prepared a green saladto go with dinner. The way he’d shut down last night had left my head spinning. He’d gone from locked in his head to doting dad in a second.
How had I never noticed how he acted when his mom was brought up?
Because I’d been so absorbed in my own trauma and focused on my own dreams. And because he’d let me.
I hovered by the table, unsure of what to do and confused about how I looked back on our time together. “I swear, you don’t have to feed me every time you see me.”
He shrugged as he chopped a tomato. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What’s your secret?” I drifted closer. “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” was getting picked out on a guitar in the living room. The girls wanted to put on a show for Wren when they went to stay there next week.
“I don’t mind being around you.”
Oh. I rubbed a hand down my arm. “I was prepared for a confession that your meatloaf was store-bought, or that Wren had made it, or that it isn’t really that good and the girls want me to be a distraction so they don’t have to eat it.”
His chuckle rumbled nice and deep. “It’s homemade—by me—and it doesn’t suck, I promise.”
I propped a hip on the counter opposite the sink a few feet away from him, far enough for this moment to not feel so intimate. “I don’t mind being around you either. But you always seem to get stuck with me.”
He dumped the tomato pieces into the bowl and grabbed the cucumber sitting by the cutting board. “Not feeling stuck with you has been the root issue.”
Warmth swirled in my belly. “True.” The way Rhyshad always made me feel set him apart from other men. He could warm me up until I felt safe and secure, or he could heat up my insides until I combusted.
Thankfully, that part of us hadn’t changed since we were kids. We’d gone from years of avoiding each other to enjoying the other’s company. Never mind the kisses. Those had been an anomaly. They didn’t fit into our timeline. They stood out. Unforgettable but out of place. Like me in this kitchen.
“You’re not so bad when you’re not being a grump.”
He cocked a brow. “I’m not a grump.”
“You’re right. I forgot about all the smiling you do around me.”
This time, he laughed. “I bet your fans don’t know you’re a smart-ass.”
Some of my humor died. “No, that’s not my image. Sweet June Bee with her heart getting broken? They’d never want to hear about the June Bee that told her ex to chew his dick off.”
The knife skated against the cutting board. “Was that helpful advice for him?”
“Yes, but I guess that really isn’t a good smart-ass example. Maybe the time the hockey player said he hadn’t had sex with the naked girl in the picture on his phone, and I told him I wished his brains were as sharp as his blades.”
“Oof. That’s more snarky than smart-ass.”
“He argued that I thought I was smarter than him, I said obviously not, since I’d thought a pro hockey player could be faithful.”
“Throwing the whole profession under the bus?”
“I kind of did, but I was justifiably upset. Half his team had known he was fucking around. Bro code.”
He tossed the cucumber slices into the bowl. “The only bro code I lived by was treating you right so your brothers wouldn’t kill me.”
“Was that the only motivation you had?”
“It’s still my main motivation.”
